


Natter

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [151]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, backstory of Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock, origin story of the coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6124942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>natter: verb: nat-er: to talk incessantly, chatter</p><p>early 19th century (in the dialect sense ‘grumble, fret’): imitative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natter

**Author's Note:**

> Playing with the relationship between Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson...going non-canonical...

Before John limped into his life, the one constant person in his life, aside from his ever-nagging brother, was Martha Hudson. She had been the family cook, back when they had the full staff at the estate, and once both boys had left home, they had set her up at Baker Street with a nice pension. So, once Sherlock had left rehab for the fifth and final(?) time, they felt it made sense to ask her if she wouldn't mind taking in their wayward child. "Just keep an eye and ear out for him, Martha?" 

Martha Hudson was the one who got him through those days and endless nights when all he wanted was to stop existing. He didn't see the point honestly. Each morning, she would climb the stairs,(her hip wasn't so bad in the early days) throw open the curtains, and natter away at the growling consulting detective, who hadn't yet been consulted or detected much of anything yet.

She droned on about Mrs. Turner and her 'lodgers'..."But if you ask me, they are a bit more than that..."

"Don't think I asked you...?" moaned the lump from the couch.

"Hush, now. I've brought you tea. Up now. I see there are some interesting murdery things going on in the papers..." She would ruffle his hair and sigh. "You know what you need?"

"No. But I'm sure you're going to-"

"A flatmate. There's that other bedroom that you just use to store all of your odds and ends..."

"Those 'odds and ends' as you call them are all my journals and samples and..."

"Who needs 200 samples of ash?"

"And no one would want to live with me...I don't even want to live with me, what 'normal' person would put up with me? And, no, you don't count, you knew who I was when my parents foisted me upon you...no offense, Martha, but you did know what you were getting into five years ago-"

"Course I did. You were always my favourite, you would pad into the kitchen to watch me cook, and listen to all the neighborhood gossip, take a turn stirring, Mycroft just wanted cake, but you loved to watch it rise in the oven, wanted to know how everything worked..."

And she would rattle off story after story, bits that he had forgotten or purposely deleted. He didn't mind her company, she didn't demand anything from him, and she made him feel less isolated from the world outside. He would eventually get off the couch, help her with jobs around her flat, and tinker with the odd part or two that he would get from Bart's. They would go to Angelo's once or twice a week, as Sherlock knew Angelo was a bit sweet on his landlady, and retire with a story on the telly.

One night, she presented him with a big box. "I know you don't do birthdays, but I saw this in the window last week, and thought of you."

He undid the bow and lifted the lid, and pulled out a long, dark coat, made of wool, and he shook his head. "Martha, you shouldn't have, this must have cost you-"

"Never you mind. Put it on, you."

He shook it out and grumbled. "Yes, mum." He slipped into it and sighed. "You got this made for me...it fits me like a glove. Martha Hudson!"

"Oh, you look so...go look...it's perfect."

It was, he had to admit, perfect. He twirled once in her mirror and watched it dance. "A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"Hmm...yes, just like you, and it would be stunning with that purple shirt you have...they would definitely notice you on crime scenes..."

"They won't let me near crime scenes, Martha. What are you on about?"

"Saw that lovely DI Lestrade on the telly tonight..you know that triple murder, locked room...the one you solved two days ago..."

"Still hasn't figured it out?"

"I bet if you were to send him an email..."

"I dunno..."

"What could it hurt?"

 

"Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson."

"A soldier too...lovely, Sherlock."


End file.
